


Mice, Mentos, and Mischief Night

by augopher



Series: Tumblr Dialogue Prompt Event March 2015 [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brotp, Gen, Humor, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/augopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles convinced Scott to help him with a dangerous creature in the lake...okay, so he may have exaggerated a little. By dangerous creature, he meant there wasn't one, and by lake he meant the school and pranking Coach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mice, Mentos, and Mischief Night

**Author's Note:**

> part 4 of 5 in my dialogue prompt event over on tumblr

Stiles drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Come on, come on, Scott. What the hell is taking you so long?” He looked up to see Scott sneaking out of his bedroom window. “Ugh, finally.” He put on his ‘this is a matter of life and death’ face and waited for Scott to climb into the passenger seat.

“So, what was so urgent that it couldn’t wait?”

“Scott, Scott, Scotty- would you believe me if I said a matter of national security?” He backed out of the McCall driveway.

“No, because why would they need our help?”

“It’s seriously, the worst crisis this town has ever faced.”

Scott’s face whipped towards Stiles so fast it looked like a snapped rubber band. “Worse than the Nogitsune? Worse than the kanima?”

“Way worse.”

“On a scale of one to Australia, how dangerous are we talking?”

Stiles chuckled. “Funny you should mention Oceania. Ever hear of a taniwha?” Scott furrowed his brows.  _Excellent._  “I’ll take the confused puppy face as a no. So they’re a supernatural creature in the Māori culture. They are like sea serpents, or well- their form is up to some debate. Many incarnations have been recorded from giant lizards to a shark like thing, but they can inhabit just about any body of water. Just so happens… the lake has one of the bad ones, and the thing is scary as hell.”

“So, how do we kill it? And where is the rest of the pack?”

Stiles hid his smirk behind a grimace. He had the guy hook, line and sinker. “Meeting us at the rendezvous point. As for killing it,” he gave a nervous laugh, “we split into three groups. One group is bait, the other two flank it, and you, my dear Alpha deal the death blow with the best replacement for a mere club I could find. I volunteer for the non-bait group.” He continued driving in total silence, playing up his feigned terror until he pulled into the empty school parking lot and hopped out, walking around to the back of the Jeep to retrieve his supplies for the night’s activities. “If I die tonight, donate all my organs to those in need, except for my middle finger- give that to Isaac and his scarf-obsessed, snarky, smug ass self.”

Scott climbed out and looked around. “Where is everyone else?”

Stiles shoved a box into Scott’s chest. “About that. I may have sort of disguised our real purpose under a fanciful tale of slaying a mythical dragon like creature.”

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you lied?”

Stiles looked at Scott, mouth agape. “I resent that Scott. I spun that tale for your in drive entertainment.”

“Why are we really here?”

“I can’t believe you forgot it was Mischief Night.”

“God, not that again. You know Coach will be expecting anything you can throw at him.”

“No, I think not my friend.”

Using one the master key he’d lifted off Gerard Argent back when the man was masquerading as a school principal instead of the anti-werewolf zealot he was, he opened the front door, holding it so Scott could walk through. “Here we are. The promised land, free for the taking,” Stiles said flinging open the door to Coach Finstock’s office and adjoining classroom. He took the box from Scott and went to work.

“Why do you have a twelve pack of 20 oz bottles of Diet Coke?”

“Chemistry, my friend, chemistry.” Stiles opened the mini fridge Coach kept behind his desk. “I watched him restock this yesterday after practice.” He removed all twelve bottles and put them back in the box he’d brought in, replacing them with the new bottles he supplied. “I may have done something to these twelve that will guarantee hilarity ensues.”

Scott looked into the box. “Stiles, why do you have a Rubbermaid tote filled with mice?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I poked holes in hit. They have food and water.” Stiles cracked the lid and took out one of the albino mice. “Look at him. Isn’t he sweet?”

Scott looked at the large ‘7′ written on the mouse’s side. “Did you draw on them with a Sharpie?”

“Absolutely not. I used a livestock marking pen. Perfectly safe. What kind of terrible person do you take me for?” He slipped the mouse back into the tote. “Now we move to the classroom.” Once inside, he shut the door and removed the food and water dish from the tote so he could turn it on its side. Then he replaced both dishes to keep the mice happy.

“What are you-”

“Watch and learn, Scotty-boy.” Stiles tied a piece of dental floss to the door knob, and tied the other end through a couple holes on the lid. “God, I wish I could see his face when this prank goes off. Oh wait…I can.” Quickly, he moved to phase three of his plan, setting up an airhorn under Coach’s swiveling desk chair, rigging it to go off when the man sat down. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Stiles walked, nay, he skipped into first period Econ five minutes early. He bristled with energy and anticipation. Coach was notorious for walking into class a minute or two after the tardy bell. This was going to be awesome.

Stiles took out his text and notebook, and then sat back to enjoy the show, sparing a glance over at Scott. He smirked. “You are looking particularly rested this morning, Scott.”

“Sometimes I hate you.”

“What you call hate, I call deep and ardent appreciation for my friendship and loyalty.”

The bell rang. From in his office, Stiles heard Coach open and then close his mini-fridge.

Three.

Two.

One.

The classroom door opened, and the lid pulled off the tote. Twenty-eight numbered mice skittered about the room.

“What in the hell?” Coach jumped as a mouse ran over his foot. “Which one of you little deviants did this?” He looked down to see mouse number nineteen run away. “You, and you.” He pointed to Greenberg and a boy sitting behind him. “Catch all these little rodents. Get them back in the box. Now!” Coach scowled as he walked up Stiles’ row towards his desk, totally oblivious to the raucous laughter Stiles could barely contain.

Coach turned to the class. “Take out your books and turn to chapter seven.”

Stiles had come to class prepared and had already supplied the whole class with earplugs for the next prank. He whimpered when Coach walked around his desk and. slowly. lowered. himself. into. his. chair.

The airhorn’s shrill blast blared through the room. Stiles was pretty sure they could hear it the next town over. A lesser fit man would probably have had a heart attack.

Coach jumped out of his chair. “Okay, this has your name written all over it, Bilinski”

Stiles feigned innocence. “Wasn’t me, Coach. I totally respect your authority, both here and on the field. Now….Harris. Yeah, I should have pranked Harris. Bummer. Can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Why didn’t I think of pranking him? God, I bet that would have earned me a year of detention. Would have been worth it. Definitely, just to pi-”

“I got it. Just stop talking.” Coach gave him the side-eye, but seemed to believe him. He sat down on his desk, and grabbed his Diet Coke. “Now who can tell me the answer to problem one?” He turned the cap, and snap.

Stiles’ pièce de résistance erupted in a glorious fountain of soda, spraying up into the man’s face and showering the immediate area in cola that Stiles was sure would taste a bit like Mentos if Coach were to indeed take a drink.

“That’s it! I give up. Class dismissed. Go pretend to study or something.”

“Uh, Coach?”

“What do you want, Greenberg?”

“We can’t find mice numbers eight and twenty-seven. I have one through seven, nine through twenty-six, and twenty-eight through thirty, but-”

“Great. Just what I need, a rodent infestation. Somebody call an exterminator.” Coach grumbled under his breath on his way out of the room.

Stiles fell out of his chair laughing. “And the best part,” he gasped for air, “is,” another gasp, “the other eleven bottles in his fridge are rigged to do the same thing.” He was laughing so hard he wheezed. “It’s the gift that keeps on giving.”

“We need to find those other two mice.”

“That’s the best part, Scotty my man. There aren’t two more mice. I purposely skipped two numbers. Isn’t it genius?”

Scott shook his head. “You are horrible.”

“I know.” Suddenly, Stiles sat up on the floor. “Scott, I think I just peaked. How in the hell am I going to top this next year?”

“Go bigger?”

Stiles nodded like he agreed with the man, picking himself up off the floor. He was silent for a minute or two, his face scrunched in deep thought. “You’re absolutely right, but where in the hell am I going to get two dozen llamas?” 


End file.
